


What Has Been Taken May Yet Be Returned

by yujacheong



Category: Knightfall (TV 2017)
Genre: First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Torture, Porn with Feelings, past castration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-02-29 05:09:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18771844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yujacheong/pseuds/yujacheong
Summary: Landry discovers a terrible secret from Talus's past. Will some impromptu sexual healing help him to overcome it?“You… They…” Landry doesn’t know quite what to say.“Yes. They took everything from me,” Talus says, “including my manhood.”





	1. Chapter 1

The hour after evening prayer is traditionally a time for private ablutions.

Talus, however, prefers not to bathe. He does not like to be reminded about his body. And if he becomes filthy, becomes smelly, so what? The repulsion of the men around him is no more than what he feels for himself. Besides, it keeps the others from asking their unpleasant, awkward questions –

“Initiate Master?”

Correction: It _usually_ keeps the others from asking questions. He has fallen short with God’s grace tonight, it seems.

“You are a knight of the Order once more. You need not call me ‘master,’ anymore, Landry.”

Talus turns to face Landry, who loiters in the entrance to his bedchamber, head bowed slightly and shoulders curled forward, an attitude of unaccustomed humility.

“My apologies, Init – Talus,” Landry says. His deep voice is whisper-soft. “I had wondered if perhaps you might wish for company tonight.”

Talus’s eyebrows make a break for his hairline. Although few would speak of such things in the light of day, it is not forbidden for brothers to be intimate with each other, nor is it even uncommon, but no brother has wanted to share his bed with ugly, _mean_ Initiate Master Talus now for many a year. Talus had assumed quite reasonably that no one ever would again.

In this as well, Landry still has the capacity to surprise.

“Surely there are other, younger brothers whose company you would find more diverting than mine?” Talus suggests.

“No, I-I – ”

Landry, unlike Talus, has already performed his private ablutions – his skin is damp but clean and pink, and he wears only the underclothes he sleeps in. The scattered sounds of slumbering brothers – creaks, mumbles, and snores – mingle with other, sweeter sounds – sighs, moans, whispered endearments, strangled, bitten-off cries, and the wet _thwaps_ of flesh joining with flesh. Talus hears them all and knows their meaning. Landry does too, and his body is responding with sympathy, with excitement, tenting his trousers with desire –

“Find another brother,” Talus croaks. His mouth has gone dry. Fear flits like butterfly wings low in his belly. “I cannot give you what you seek.”

Landry shakes his head slowly. Instead of retreating into the bed of one of his more virile brothers, he steps forward. “I did not come to take. I came to give – to offer you companionship. Would you permit that, at least?”

He could refuse. He _should_ refuse! A part of him wants to. But a bigger part – the part he had believed tortured out of him forever in Acre – wants what this man, this handsome, strong man who dreams only of reunion with his innocent infant daughter – is offering.

He orders Landry to extinguish the light before they begin to disrobe. There is a certain futility to Talus’s modesty, for it will not possible to hide what has been done to him, but at least no one will have to _see_.

By the time they have slid underneath the old woolen blanket atop Talus’s bed, wearing only skins marred by their countless scars and half-healed wounds, Landry knows. He can’t _not_.

“You… They…” Landry doesn’t know quite what to say.

“Yes. They took everything from me,” Talus says, “including my manhood.”

He prefers not to remember, generally speaking; it’s easier not to. Now, though, with Landry, he can’t help himself, and the past consumes his thoughts. They’d taken his balls first – gelded him like he were a gifted boy soprano destined to sing in the Pope’s choir. Then, years later, because he still showed them the occasional spark of defiance, they took his cock. That had hurt far, far worse than the gelding, and the wound had become diseased.

He’d nearly died, and he’d cursed God when he did not. After his rescue, they’d had to cut him there thrice more just to reopen his urethra so that he could empty his bladder. Pissing had been agony, and they’d made him drink more, more, _more_ , to ensure that the opening did not close again. The healing process never brought relief. Only more pain.

He’d not touched himself – let alone allowed himself to be touched – in passion again after that. Sexual release was an impossibility. The mere notion of it, in fact – ridiculousness!

So if Talus behaves like the base needs of the body and care of the same are inconveniences he’d rather not exist, it is understandable. And if he spends a lot of time being singularly short-tempered and testy with the people around him, well, he definitely has an excuse.

“I-I…I didn’t know. I’m so sorry,” Landry whispers. The words are ashamed, weighted with new guilt, and his nascent arousal withers on the vine.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Landry.” Talus clears his throat and blinks back the incipient moisture collecting in his eyes. “But now you know what I lack. Will you see your intentions through or not?”

Landry can’t not. His is a profoundly flawed soul, it is true, but the light of God’s love still shines in him, and it’s what compels him to reach out to Talus in fellowship and embrace him.

They kiss. Talus has always liked the hard bodies and roughness of men, and he enjoys the prickle of Landry’s facial hair on his sensitive lips, at his throat, his collarbone, the long, strong limbs that twist and twine around him. He worms one hand between their bellies, wraps his fingers around Landry’s shaft, strokes him firmly to a rampant state. The overall size is impressive, the girth in particular, and Talus reminds himself that _this_ cock has quickened the womb of a queen.

He feels a rush of heat, an ache, behind the hideous stump of scar tissue at his loins. A tightening. He knows what he wants. Ah, but he hasn’t done this…not since he was a callow youth experimenting with manhood…ah, but he _wants_ …

“Have you buggered a man before, Landry?” Talus asks, wriggling his hips lasciviously so that his meaning cannot be mistaken.

He feels more than hears Landry gulp, feels more than sees him nod. Excellent. Talus rolls over onto his stomach and presents his arse. After a moment’s hesitation Landry kneels down between Talus’s thighs. He spits several times into his palm, rubs the saliva onto himself and Talus. It will have to do; it’s all they have.

Penetration is difficult, unsurprisingly; Talus has grown ill-accustomed to being used in this way, especially by someone as long and thick as Landry, and he buries his face in his pillow to stifle his hisses of pain. Landry, though, is patient, and he moderates the burning, insistent press of his cock with soothing caresses along the tense, corded muscles of Talus’s back and a rain of warm kisses to the nape of his neck, and when finally he is fully seated, he freezes and waits.

“Yes, yes, all right,” Talus mutters.

Landry’s breath is expelled from his lungs in a rush as he starts, slowly, to thrust. Talus grits his teeth at the tugging sensation of the glans catching upon his entrance with each withdrawal, the queasy slide of each reentry that makes him feel like his innards are being shoved about and shifted out of their rightful places.

The discomfort eases gradually and is transformed into pleasant friction. Talus is able to recall how he always loved this form of intimacy between brothers, this singular feeling of being made exquisitely vulnerable. Landry’s pace accelerates, and that good feeling starts to intensify. He’d be frigging himself furiously by now if…well. But then an especially deep series of thrusts makes Talus forget what he’s lost. He grunts and shudders and clutches the blanket and rocks back into Landry. The scents of sex and male sweat assault his nostrils, so intoxicating. He is dizzy; he is seeing starlight; his nerves are being scraped raw –

“Ohhh… I’m going to… I can’t… I need to…!” Landry whimpers into Talus’s ear. His mouth is a hot, wet smear on Talus’s shoulder; there is the hint of teeth, the hint of a possessive bite.

Talus arches back into Landry, urging him on, and turns his head to the side, an invitation. Landry pulls him in close. They kiss again.

Landry’s thrusts are swift now, and shallow, and their flesh is slapping together so loudly that surely the noise of their congress has awakened everyone in the temple, and the blunt, spongey head of Landry’s cock is rubbing against something sensitive and swollen inside Talus, something unutterably wonderful that is going to make him unravel –

Talus tenses as a tidal wave of devastating, orgiastic pleasure sweeps through him, sudden, _shocking_ , and the muscles in his groin contract in a way he has not felt since…since…

Hot fluid spills from Talus’s cruel, scarred stump and onto the bed pallet. These muscles haven’t been used in ages; each pulse actually _hurts_. Distantly, Talus can hear himself keening. He wouldn’t have believed – ! He’d lost faith that – ! Ahhhh, he is so overwhelmed, so stunned, so humbled, so _grateful_ –

Then Landry pushes home one last time and pours himself into Talus, hot at God’s own cleansing light, and Talus tumbles headlong into a second, annihilating orgasm.

It ends eventually, of course, a minute or an eternity later, but there is no awkwardness between them afterwards. No regrets. Neither man speaks. Landry kisses away the tears Talus didn’t realize he’d been shedding. They lie together, wrapped around each other, lost in comfort, breathing the same air, until the soft light of dawn comes and they must rise for morning prayer.


	2. Chapter 2

Landry has elected to return for a second night.

“I had wondered if perhaps you might wish for company again,” he says without preamble.

Talus simply nods and bids Landry to enter. He has already disrobed, and although he has not yet snuffed out his candle, he is not ashamed anymore. He assumes quite reasonably that everything will go as it did before, and he is not displeased by the prospect.

So, it is a surprise when Landry drops to his knees at Talus’s feet and tilts his head sideways then cranes his neck forward, seeking permission to perform a particular carnal act which, before his maiming, Talus would have welcomed most heartily. Now, though…

“No, you don’t have to…”

“But I want to,” Landry says and brushes his lips tenderly against the scar.

Talus feels a shudder sweep through his body as Landry’s mouth, warm and wet, kisses the stump and suckles it, first gently, then harder, like a babe to the teat. Talus chokes, and his legs begin to shake as Landry’s tongue probes the slit, the rasp against the sensitive tissues sharp as a steel blade, painful yet also exquisitely pleasurable – pleasurable because the one who causes the sensations is so beloved.

Landry’s hands stroke the insides of Talus’s thighs and sweep up the vee of his groin and his belly, fingers buried in the tangled thatch of ash-grey hair there. Then his hands slide around the curve of Talus’s hips, to cup his buttocks, to hold him, capture him, lest he might try to flee Landry’s hot attentions.

Not that he would. Landry is behaving like a man dying of hunger for the unique textures and tastes of Talus. It’s exciting to be so incomprehensibly desired, to be treated like this, worshiped, like there is nothing more precious to Landry in all of France, and when Landry’s fingers slip into his arse crack, press against the only place where the flesh beneath the short curls is perfect and unmarred, tease the rim of his anus, _penetrate_ him, Talus’s insides tense with nigh intolerable need.

Landry knows without being told how to touch him, how to stretch the muscles, where to push. Talus’s hands clasp Landry’s head, stroke his shorn hair, caress the silk-soft whorls of his ears. Landry’s eyes, glistening bright with passion, lift to meet Talus’s, and his mouth sucks more strongly still, like he would draw Talus’s very _soul_ out through his loins. Beneath, Talus can see Landry’s own cock rising up from between his legs, wet at the tip where the foreskin has slipped back.

He does not attempt to touch himself, though – Landry’s hands, like his mouth, are only for Talus. Maybe later his cock will be too; Talus can but hope. For now, Landry probes deeper, sucks harder; he is pushing Talus to the brink –

“No, stop, Landry, I’m going to…!”

But Landry doesn’t stop. He probes yet deeper, sucks yet harder, and with a grunt and a curse uttered from behind clenched teeth, Talus starts to spill himself. His limbs lock, and he trembles, and he doubles over, as if curling into the pleasure, as if cradling it, cradling _Landry_ , and his hips jerk back and forth, back and forth, back and forth uncontrollably – a reflex, a facsimile of those last, sweet plunges into a lover, the heat, the friction – and Landry swallows the entirety of each and every spurt. He continues laving the stump with his tongue long after the last of the fluid has dribbled out, long after the ecstasy has decayed into little shocks of agony.

“I would offer you recompense for this gift,” Talus says to Landry, but Landry merely shakes his head. A refusal.

“I’m too close,” Landry says, and sure enough it takes but two tugs of his hand, of pulling the foreskin over the crown, of pinching it over the slit and releasing it, before Landry is gasping and spilling himself onto the floor between Talus’s toes.

If they share a bed again tonight, it seems it will only be for sleeping. They do, and it is. Talus would be disappointed, save for the fact that he knows there will be more nights.


End file.
